


Sins of the Fathers

by DixieDale



Series: The Life and Times of One Peter Newkirk [48]
Category: Clan O'Donnell - Fandom, Hogan's Heroes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-04
Updated: 2018-06-04
Packaged: 2019-05-17 23:06:30
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,966
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14840933
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DixieDale/pseuds/DixieDale
Summary: Yes, considering all that 'afterglow' floating around Haven, she should probably have expected this, but somehow she hadn't.  As Caeide comes to grips with the idea of motherhood, Andrew and Peter have their own adjustments to make.  Now, with Peter vacillating between outright joy and out-and-out panic, it's up to Andrew to be the calm, steady voice of reason.  Yeah, so that wasn't a role either of the men were particularly well suited for, but SOMEONE had to do it!   Caeide was too busy kneeling in front of that porcelain bowl to help much.  As for Maude and Marisol?  They were ecstatic.  Well, they had had those two specially-made cradles stored away in Maudie's closet, the tiny linens and the first of the baby clothes in the back of Marisol's, and the plans for the nursery all ready and waiting for some time now.  THEY knew you weren't likely to have that much afterglow without some after effects!





	Sins of the Fathers

**Author's Note:**

> Yes, the Mark and April mentioned are from the Man From Uncle/Girl From Uncle side, their story is told there under title of 'Ashtore'.

{"I will strangle him, once I figure out which HIM is responsible. Four times I've cast up my accounts this morning, which is once more than each of the past four mornings, and I'm not at all sure I'm finished!} With a gasp, she realized that, indeed, she was right, and at least one more round of clutching the bowl was in store for her. Finally straightening up, she heaved a deep breath and proceeds to wash and dress for the morning.

Upon receiving a cheery "Good morning, Caeide," and "Hello, luv, you doing well this morning?" she gave them each a baleful glance, causing them to raise their brows at each other wondering just what they'd done wrong this time, wondering if she'd somehow found out about that shoving contest that had almost landed the both of them at the bottom of the cliffs, or maybe about that rather ill-advised bet with Elis Tanner, or about Andrew wanting to bring that red scorpion home ("but he looks lonesome, Peter!"), then maybe . . .

They listened in wonder as she told Marisol, "no, nothing for me this morning. Except, any of that tea left, and maybe some of those salt crisps you made over the weekend?", Caeide usually making breakfast a hearty meal in preparation for the day's work.

Marisol and Maude took a look at her wan and slightly green-tinged face and shared a secret though gleeful grin. {"About time! Just what this place needs!"}

The two men looked at each other with concern. "Caeide, are you alright, luv?" asked Peter, while Andrew, eyes wide, said, "Yeah, you don't look so good. I mean, not that you look bad, just that maybe you don't look like you feel, I mean . . ." as he trailed off, helplessly.

She looked at them both, {"Which one do I strangle first, maybe both, just to be sure, oh, damn, I think I'm going to do it again!"} as she gulped suddenly, and dashed from the room. 

A good sitdown with Maude and Marisol only led her to one rather definite conclusion, {"Well, it's not food poisoning, so I'm good and truly caught.}

A few months ago, it would have been Peter responsible, no doubt about that, of course; but now, since that ridiculous prank that they had pulled that had ended with Andrew entering her bed, along with Peter, it was odds on which was responsible. Of course, ultimately, she was the one responsible, she knew; she was the one who let herself be seduced by the realization that she loved them both, the thought of having both of them, and she had, after that, frequently, sometimes in the same night, sometimes even together!

Well, precedent enough in her family, of course, but she'd never imagined anyone other than Peter; Andrew had happened without her actually thinking about it, and that took some getting used to. Now, on top of that, WAY on top of that, she was apparently with child.

Never mind whose, it would only be one of the two men she now called her own, of course, but she had actually never seriously considered this. She'd waited so long, Peter had been so worn down after the prisoner of war camp, and Andrew by that and life itself, it hadn't occurred to her, somehow, that new life was even a possibility.

That was a worry; in many ways, they were boys still themselves, the war and perhaps life before the war having eaten up those years for them. How would they react? How was she to tell them, with her not knowing? Then, she realized with a grateful smile, she did know. The sickness had muddled her mind, but now, after she'd finally stopped throwing up and had managed another strong cup of tea, she was clear-headed again. Suddenly, it was all good. She COULD tell them, because she knew the truth! Now the only question was, WHEN did she tell them?

After a couple of mornings of being sick as a dog, not really coming to herself til mid morning, it had to be done. They were now nagging at Maude and Marisol, worried about her. Funny, in a way, they were asking if she was sick, couldn't Maude do something, what was wrong, what could they do? Through their evident concern, their anxiety over her, not a word, not even a hint in their faces or expressions, Maude thought, of what the cause might be. One expectant father would be bad enough; now, they'd have to deal with two, for she was sure that Caeide hadn't a clue, any more than the boys would have, and she rather doubted it mattered anyway. 

"Peter, Andrew, Marisol, Maudie, can I have a minute? There's something I need to tell you." They all sat down, Peter and Andrew puzzled, Marisol and Maudie only confused as to why they were being included in this conversation.

"It seems we're expanding the family again." "Oh?" said Andrew, wide-eyed and eager. "Did Kinch decide to come finally? I know he was thinking about it but . . ."

"No, Andrew, at least I haven't heard from Kinch recently, so I don't think so, at least not right now. No, we are going to have a baby, I think in the spring," she said resolutely, avoiding everyone's eye, reaching down to stroke the not-yet-a-bulge tenderly.

"WE?" said Peter, tensely, chilled inside, with a clinched jaw and shuttered eyes.

"Well, it certainly appears that way," she smirked at her lanky Brit.

"WHO?" he asked, looking directly in her eye.

"WE, love, the family," she smiled gently, pretty much guessing the apprehension going through his mind.

He looked into her eyes, long and deep; he looked at Andrew, who sat with an open mouth and wondering eyes, and, relaxing, said with a broad smile, a smile reflected in his eyes, "well, as long as we've got that straightened out. What say you, Andrew, think we're up ta being proud papas?" and his heart, her heart, clutched as Andrew's face glowed.

"Oh, boy! I guess so!"

Caeide decided she wasn't really interested in strangling either of them. Though once she knew she was carrying twins, she had to reconsider that decision, albeit briefly. But then again, someone had to help with those two o'clock feedings!

When brown-haired James Andrew and red-haired Louisa Maude joined the family in the early spring, there was much rejoicing. The fathers went from cradle to cradle, reaching out hesitant fingers to touch each tiny face, each downy head, with wonder. If in the coming days, in the coming years, they were asked, "which of you is the father" they responded with proud grins, "WE are!" They said the same for the others too, when they came along in their own good time, as they did. "WE are!"

 

Peter's POV: 

Just this morning she'd told them, and at first he'd been scared, that it would drive a wedge between them, that she might be wanting only the one who'd fathered that babe she was carrying, leaving the other behind, alone. He didn't want to be alone anymore; he didn't want Andrew to be alone either. It was RIGHT with the three of them, he NEEDED it to be the three of them. Once it was obvious that wasn't the case, that she thought of the three of them as being this child's parents, still wanted them both, wasn't going to look at that babe, at its face, and make a choice as to which one of them she wanted to keep, he'd started feeling excited, pleased at the thought. 

But that was this morning. Now it was mid-afternoon, and he was back to being scared. He'd spent the past few hours remembering his growing up, his childhood, if you were generous enough to call it that. He remembered the drinking and yelling, the beatings, the contempt and scorn, the demands that could never be met to satisfaction, the taking on of a grownup's responsibilities when he was still so young himself, and he was scared. He was grooming the horses, and afterwards took time to sit on a bale of hay thinking things over, trying to get a grip of the fear that was now pushing at him, making him sweat and breathe more shallowly. 

"Peter, hey, you okay?" Andrew asked him, having watched him from the wide double doors on the horse barn for several minutes, his concern growing.

Peter took a deep breath, "what if I muck it all up, Andrew?"

Andrew drew closer, frowning in puzzlement, "muck WHAT up?" to get a truly panicked wide-eyed look.

"Being a father. What if I turn out like 'IM; what if I start acting like 'im, treating this one, the babe, like 'E treated us?"

For a frozen moment, Andrew remembered, thinking . . . Then Andrew remembered the bits and pieces he'd heard from his friend back at camp, from Derrick and Kyle, realized Peter was speaking of his own father, not that other manipulating, abusive figure in their shared past. He'd wondered, sometimes, if Peter ever saw the similarities, all the characteristics those two men had shared, the similar roles Peter seemed to have played in each of their lives - a handy tool, a convenient victim. This was bad enough, but even the thought that Peter could ever had been afraid he'd somehow turn into another Hogan, another man like his father, that was a sickening thought. {"He doesn't have it in him, he just doesnt!"} unknowingly echo'ing what Maude had told Caeide all those years ago. 

"W'at if I start treating Caeide, you, the others like 'e treated Ma? What if when 'e's grown, he looks back and . . . ."

Andrew shook his head, not having understood what he'd heard then, how someone could act like that to their own kid, their own family; he couldn't understand what he was hearing now. This was one of the best men he'd ever known, one of the kindest, one of the strongest and bravest, always ready to stand between that heavy fist and those he cared about. He went and sat down beside his friend, his partner, his lover, shoulder touching shoulder, like they used to sit back in the camp.

"Peter, this baby, when he's grown, is gonna look back at one of the best childhoods anyone could imagine. He's gonna remember being loved, being held, and cuddled, and sung to, and playing games, and riding horses, and climbing trees, and having Maudie make him special treats, and having Marisol tease him and share candy with him from her stash. He'll remember being told bedtime stories, and having pets, and meeting Angie and curling up with Estelle and Lucy and Charlie and Grace, having the Reverend tell him all the legends from around here, and me telling him stories about the Lakota Sioux and you about the pub and all that, and learning about the Clan and what it means, and about brotherhood and what that means, being taught all the things it's important to know, and, well, everything a kid SHOULD be able to remember. My dad, well, we had hard times; not everyone accepted him, and there were those who didn't like my mom, cause she married him. But he worked hard, he loved us and he never let us forget that. He taught me a lot, and I didn't always agree with everything he did, but what I remember most, is that he loved me, me and my mom. This baby, he's gonna have Caeide, he's gonna have you, and me, and Maudie, and Marisol, and the sisters and everyone else, and he's gonna have so much love! Me, I'm not my dad; I remember the good parts, and the not-so-good parts, cause there were some of those too; and I'm gonna use what I remember to be the best dad I can be! You, Peter, I can't imagine anyone being a better dad! This baby, he's gonna be so lucky in having you to love him, and protect him, and care about him and teach him stuff! I don't know what was wrong with your dad. But I know YOU; Peter, you're gonna be great!" 

And Peter took a deep breath, looked down at his young friend, his Andrew, the glowing confidence showing on that slightly narrow face, and slowly a smile came to his face, then it grew into a grin.

"You know what, Andrew, I think you just might be right! BLOODY 'ELL, you ARE right! WE, Andrew my luv, WE are gonna be just great!" and together they laughed, in real joy, and were still laughing when they headed back up to the house to whirl Caeide around in their arms, telling her "we're going to be fathers!!" to her evident bemusement, since she thought that had been well established earlier that morning.

Looking at their faces, hearing their voices, though, she didn't question them, just laughed along with them and told them, "yes, loves, you truly are!!"

***

He looked at her, thinking he'd misheard; somehow, he'd never considered it. Jamie and Louisa were not quite three, his delights, well, along with Caeide and Andrew, but that was different. He'd been so scared, thinking his father was inside of him, just waiting to ambush him, to cause him to become like HIM. Andrew had helped get him through that initial fear, and he'd found that they'd been right, Andrew, Caeide, Maudie, Mari, the ones who'd told him he could be whatever kind of a father he chose to be. Well, he'd chosen to be one as far from what he remembered of his own father as possible, as close to the image of what he'd WISHED for in a father, when he'd been old enough to know there was something different possible, and he found it had come so naturally, with little effort. 

Not that he didn't get impatient or annoyed; of course he did, usually when he'd found himself getting too tired and cold and aching, his body being what it was. But he took a walk, or worked on a project, or talked to the others, and it all came about. He still limited himself to that one drink a day he'd allowed himself when he came back from the war, at least most days; maybe he had a couple when there was a special occasion, but that was rare, and even then he didn't get top-lofty. He DIDN'T find himself shouting, or threatening, or what he'd really feared, getting drunk and taking his fist to the babes or to Caeide or the others. It just didn't happen, didn't come close, not even a hint, and sometimes at the end of a day he'd look back and smile at that, the triumph over the old ghosts, knowing the old man hadn't won after all. He helped with baths, he told stories, he comforted the little hurts and bruises, he sponged tiny bodies when the fevers came, and helped rock them thru the colic; he sang lullabies, combed that soft fine hair into funny shapes that had Caeide shaking her head at him, laughing.

And now, she said they were to do it again. And he wondered if the love he had inside him for these first two, if it could stretch to hold another. He prayed it would, and the remembering came to him again, and he shivered, and he swore to himself, this new babe, well, it too would have the best he could give, and not be stinted on the love, no, nor on any of the rest the first two were receiving from him. He was not, he WOULD NOT be his father!

***

He looked down into cradles. Mari, Maeve, last of their children. He smiled, remembering his earliest doubts, that worry that he had anything to offer as a father. Well, that was long past. He'd become a father many times over now, with their seeming talent for twins, and found he loved and cherished each babe as much as the first, and that the love he felt didn't diminish for having to be shared among so many. Jamie and Louisa, they were twelve now; Karl and Kat, just 9; Liam and Morgana, 7; Colin and Scotty, that rather remarkable pair, one looking like Andrew, the other like him, 2 years old, running around, getting into everything in their efforts to be a full part of the family doings. Now, these last two. They'd decided these would be the last. Caeide'd had some trouble with Liam and Morgana; Peter had had to use his magic fingers to turn Liam before he could be born, though Morgana had raced after him as if impatient that he'd been holding up the works; it had taken longer for Caeide to come around after that birthing. Colin and Scotty, well, she'd had to stay abed the last several weeks before they were born, and her brother Patrick, a doctor, had suggested they perhaps not have any more. Well, in spite of being careful, or so they'd thought, and in spite of, YES, knowing quite well what caused it, as some in the family teased they seemingly didn't, Mari and Maeve had presented themselves. This had been a much easier carrying, and easier delivery, but Peter and Andrew were still determined, with Caeide in agreement, that ten children, well, surely they could be quite contented with those!

***  
He wondered if he could get away with somehow blaming this last pair on Mark and April, the distraction of their being here, but then remembered Caeide had been found kneeling in front of the porcelain bowl just days after the Gathering In that had brought Mark in to their lives, reintroduced April to them. No, he was just going to have to take responsibility, well, along with Andrew, of course, for these two new occupants to those well worn, well used cradles Maude and Marisol had had made for them so long ago. April Leann, shortened to A'Len; Mark Lupan.

They were expected back here today, those namesakes, the adopted Aunt and Uncle, April and Mark. They'd lived in the family quarters for a few months, but were needed on a special project at the main Enclave and had been away. Now, they were due back, their suite all ready and waiting, and the youngsters were all excited. They'd latched onto those two right from the beginning, drew them into their hearts, and had never looked back. Mark and April were expecting themselves shortly, and as nervous and hesitant as he'd been that first time around. April didn't remember her mother, but her father sounded as warm and endearing as his own had been, perhaps not physically brutal but cold and domineering and judgmental. Mark's mother, well, he spoke fondly of her and with love and had lots of good stories to tell; his father was not a tyrant, and Mark spoke respectfully of him, but Peter thought he had not been a warm sort either.

Both of them wanted this babe so much, but were more than a little worried about their ability to do right by it. April had told Caeide on the phone that they both needed to talk, to better understand, if Caeide and Peter and Andrew were willing to share. Well, of course, they would share. They'd done that when Mark had been so badly hurt and April so frantic. Peter and Andrew had already talked about this, and they had no reservations. This babe of Aunt April's, Uncle Mark's, well, that babe would be as welcome, as loved at Haven as any of the others had been. That babe and any others would be a part of the extended family. 

The one thing, well, one of the many, many things Peter had discovered over the years, the love he had available to give, it didn't diminish when someone new was given to him to love; no, the love just seemed to grow, to spread itself widely and willingly. How many times he'd heard those sayings, 'sins of the fathers', and 'like father, like son,' and 'the apple doesn't fall far' and so many others, thought that had destined him to being a copy of all that he remembered. He didn't know if the sayings were wrong, or if having Caeide and Andrew had made the difference, or just what. He just knew now, totally and without reservation, he was NOT his father. And that was a good thing. That was a bloody good thing! And, for the first time in his life, he felt sorry for his father, that he'd not known this, perhaps not been capable to knowing this, this love that still bewildered Peter at times.

***  
"We wanted to introduce you as soon as we could, of course, and decided we'd travel together; it just gave us more hands to help, you know." Peter and Andrew and Caeide looked with delight at their oldest children, Jamie and Louisa, their bondmates and the babes born to them. Jamie and Nicola, her the daughter of Actor and Lynn, well, they'd been a pair since mid-teens, their caring ever growing. They brought their daughter, Antonia Therese. Louisa, Jamie's twin sister, and her bondmate Randy, firstborn son of Goniff, Craig and Caeide's younger sister Meghada, well, they'd know of their bond before she'd completed her internship, when she was still thirteen; they had never faltered in their regard for each other; they'd brought their twins, Andrea Petrace and Rodney Craig, named for Louisa's fathers, Randy's fathers. The grandfathers, all four of them, were tickled pink! Already they were being addressed as 'Petey and Roddy'.

In other circumstances, Caeide and the guys would have been down at the Cottages for introductions before this, but with the new babies at Haven and Caeide not really up for traveling when The Cottages babes were born, it hadn't been feasible. Now, they were all together, and once again the house was filled with babies. 

It was in the late evening that Peter had wanted to just sit in the shadows by the dying fire and reflect, and found himself shedding a few quiet tears. It was there Andrew found him, sat down on the long bench beside him, pressed their shoulders together and asked, "something wrong?" to get a low chuckle, but as if it came from a throat closed with deep emotion.

"Not wrong, just thinking back to when Caeide first told us about Jamie and Louisa. Remember, 'ow scared I was, that I'd muck it up, not do right by them, by Caeide and you? Just a bit ago, Jamie and Louisa, they came and thanked me; said they'd be looking for you, for Caeide too, to do the same."

He blinked away the tears, "Andrew, they said they'd 'ad the best childhood anyone could ever 'ave; that they intended to use what we'd taught them, 'ow we'd treated them and cared for them and loved them, use that in knowing 'ow to take care of these new tikes o theirs."

Andrew listened in sympathy, in understanding, "I remember you were so worried about what the baby would think, when it was grown, how'd it'd look back and see you, see us." He lowered his eyelids and leaned back against the wall for a moment and smiled, "I think you got your answer today, didn't you."

And Caeide found them there, shoulders tight against each other, tears in their eyes, and she wondered, but asked nothing, just stood there, loving them, loving the sight of them loving and supporting each other as always, and gently called for them to end their day and come to bed. Tomorrow would be a busy day.


End file.
